


The Truth About Kyle

by maxette



Category: South Park
Genre: Boypussy, Cunnilingus, First Time, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Size Kink, Unsafe Sex, did I mention boypussy?, very excessive use of the word "pussy"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxette/pseuds/maxette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle is house sitting while the Marshes are out of town and he decides it's a good idea to masturbate on Stan's bed. </p><p>Stan comes home early.</p><p>Oh, and Kyle has a vagina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth About Kyle

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://southparkkink.livejournal.com/529.html?thread=434705#t434705) on the kink meme. 
> 
> So I thought why not introduce myself to a really small fandom with a really controversial kink I know nothing about? Hoping this pleases the OP at least! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_This is wrong,_ Kyle thinks as he walks into Stan's bedroom. It’s a violation of privacy and it’s pretty gross besides. It’s the kind of thing Cartman would do. But how wrong it is would fuel that sick bastard. That’s the difference.

. . . it’s different, isn’t it? Feeling bad about it?

He shouldn’t do this.

But he has to.

And it’s a victimless crime, anyway. No one needs to know. No one’s _going_ to know. He’ll wash the sheets when he’s done, wash away all the evidence. Stan should notice the difference considering his sheets smell like they haven’t been washed in weeks right now—that was the whole fucking catalyst, actually. He should notice, but he won’t. Stan is such a boy.

Kyle sits on Stan’s bed, still fully dressed, and lifts one of Stan’s pillows to his face. God, it smells so good, a mix of his cheap shampoo and the fancy body wash Shelly left when she went to college, Stan’s sweat and the kind of extra funky smell he gets around his ears. The smell is very familiar, but also desperately arousing in a way it’s never been before, maybe because this is the first time Kyle has ever smelled it without Stan there to see him, the first time he’s been able to do something about how it makes him feel.

Stan’s door squeaks open and Kyle throws the pillow away from him to hide what he was doing, even though he _knows_ he’s the only person in the Marsh house right now. The pillow flies over Stan’s bedside table, taking the lamp, alarm clock, and an empty water glass to the floor with it. As he should have known, it’s just Sparky. The arthritic dog shuffles across the room to Kyle and sits in front of him, settling his head on Kyle’s knee. He’s been walked, fed, and watered, but he’s still starved for attention while his family is in Denver for the weekend.

“You miss Stan, huh?” Kyle says, scratching Sparky behind the ears. Kyle may be a pervert, but he’s still a dedicated pet sitter. “Me too. You leave me alone for another twenty minutes and then I’ll watch a movie with you, okay?”

Sparky doesn’t move, just huffs out a sigh and blinks. Kyle takes him by the collar and pushes him out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He can hear Sparky lie down right up against the door. It’s weird knowing he’ll be right outside the door while Kyle does all that he’s planning to do, but that’s kind of the least of what’s weird about this, so Kyle lets it go.

Kyle turns back to the bed, pulls off his shirt, and drops it on the floor because he might as well get started. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans. He wore his tightest pair, the ones with a button fly, just for the pleasure of taking them off in this room. He drops them. Finally, he drops his underwear and socks right next to the bed. He takes a moment to admire the trail of clothes, imagines Stan stripping him as he drags Kyle in here, desperate to fuck him.

In real life, Stan doesn’t even know what he’d be fucking. That’s exactly why Kyle had to wait till Stan was hundreds of miles away to get fucked on Stan’s bed all by himself.

Stan left the top sheet and comforter crumpled at the very end of his bed, revealing his fitted sheet, flannel and a little pilly, the same periwinkle blue one he’s had since they were kids. Kyle takes a deep breath and sits down. This is the point of no return. He’s been wet since he walked over here, while he took care of Sparky and got the mail and watered the plants. He feels the folds of his pussy spread over the soft fabric, feels his wetness seep out, marking Stan’s bed with his desire, with his scent.

 _Fuck._ He brought towels to make sure he doesn’t leave anything permanently on Stan’s mattress, but he really wanted this moment, this possessive act, even if he’s the only one who ever knows about it. He would know. _I made Stan’s bed dirty once_ , he’d remember. He claimed it, like he belonged there.

From his backpack Kyle pulls out a towel, a small blue vibrator, and a pretty big dildo, realistically shaped and colored. It’s not as big as Stan’s cock, which is exactly why he picked it. Thanks to a circle jerk in Cartman’s basement last summer, he knew exactly what to look for on the Good Vibrations website. Kyle didn’t participate in the impromptu masturbation, for reasons only obvious to him, and was called a pussy even more frequently by Cartman for months afterwards—if only that asshole knew—but he still got a good look at all his friends’ junk out of it. Stan’s was the biggest, which Kyle took an irrational amount of pride in, followed closely by Token and Kenny. Cartman was the smallest, which brought Kyle what he thought was a perfectly rational amount of joy, smaller even than Butters, who had the cutest little cock Kyle had ever seen. (It still killed him to see it, just a little bit, because if there was anyone else in his class he thought _maybe_  . . . but no, even Butters is more man than Kyle is.) Clyde and Tweek’s Kyle could barely remember, but he does remember Craig, who also refused to participate, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the both of them lined up next to him on the couch. Kyle wonders about Craig, sometimes, but like hell Kyle would ever ask him. No guy in South Park has a vagina and Kyle’s not going to be the first one to admit otherwise.

Kyle strokes his dildo, thinking of Stan’s cock. He doesn’t need any toys today—he’s geared up enough that he could probably come in ten seconds or less. He brought them because he wants to make this last. Stan’s never going to fuck him. Kyle accepted that a long time ago. But he still likes that Stan would fill him up like this rubber cock never could. It would be so much more, so much better. He knows that’s not a healthy perspective. He should want to have a satisfactory sex life, solo or not, but he doesn’t. He doesn't want to be satisfied if it’s not with Stan.

Kyle runs the fat head of the dildo over the top of his slit, gently at first, and then deeper so it drags over his clit. He shudders, on the edge of orgasm just from that. Maybe he won’t be able to last no matter what he tries.

Or maybe he’ll be able to come more than once. That’s supposed to he a perk of this kind of genitalia, but he’s never been able to manage it. He gets too sleepy after he’s come once to bother. Well, that’s a fine goal. He’ll have multiple orgasms this afternoon. Maybe he’ll even squirt, another urban legend as far as he can tell. And then he’ll clean up the mess, and he and Sparky will take this secret to their graves.

Kyle lies on his back, squirming until he’s comfortable against Stan’s pillows. He spreads his legs, bends his knees, and lifts his hips so he can push the towel under his ass. The rough fabric feels good against his sensitized skin. Curious, he takes up the towel and rubs it against his clit and _oh_ —that’s really good.

He easily drops into a fantasy where he and Stan have just bathed together in small, dim indoor pool, the way he imagines Roman baths. Stan offers to dry him and, at Kyle’s kind consent, he does it, thoroughly, rubbing a towel over Kyle's chest and his back, each of his arms, then down to his feet and up to his thighs. When Stan reaches his pussy, Kyle spreads his legs. Kneeling in front of him, Stan rubs the towel there, over and over. Then he lets the towel drop, rubbing him with his hands instead, slipping a couple fingers up Kyle’s hole, spreading his pussy and sucking Kyle’s clit between his lips.

(Stan loves eating pussy. Back when they were still dating, Wendy made the mistake of telling Bebe, so now the whole school knows that for a fact. “Hear that, Kyle?” Cartman said when the rumor first reached their lunch table. “Your little boypussy still has a chance with him!” That was Kyle’s first thought, too, and he was so mortified to hear Cartman voice it that he had no choice but to punch him in the face.)

Kyle dips into his entrance and collects some wetness on his thumb. He strokes it over his clit lightly, like he imagines the tip of Stan’s tongue might feel lapping at him, and—burying his face in Stan’s pillow, Stan’s smell—he comes, feeling a gush of wetness coming out of his hole, but nothing that could reasonably be called _squirting_. Oh, well. He’s got time. 

Sunshine is streaming through Stan’s window, warming the room. It’s a beautiful November day, the ground packed with snow, but clear and bright overhead. Kyle has never felt so good coming down from an orgasm, warm and sated in Stan’s bed. As soon as he realizes that, Kyle is overwhelmingly sad that this is the only time he’ll ever feel like this—and Stan isn’t even here. Kyle turns and wraps both arms around Stan’s firmest pillow, a lame substitution for a body, but it’s something.

Kyle can’t let himself fall asleep, though. He has to come again, wash and dry these sheets, and be home in time for dinner.

Still lying on his side, Kyle feels for the vibrator, turns it on, and runs it over his ass, in between his cheeks and across his asshole, and forward, where his skin gets slick. The vibration on his pussy almost hurts, so soon after coming, making his hips jerk uncontrollably, like he’s being given an electric shock.

It’s hanging in front of him like ripe fruit, so Kyle picks up another fantasy, one that’s familiar, one that works no matter how much he’s hating his body that day. Kyle flips onto his back and grips the wooden bars of the headboard and imagines Stan has him tied there. He imagines waking up that way, naked, spread open for Stan’s use. _You thought I wouldn’t find out_ , Stan tells him, _but I know now. I know the only thing you’re good for. You’re a born slut, Kyle. You’re nothing but a hole_.

Sometimes this fantasy accounts for years of being a nonhuman under Stan’s control, living naked and silent in Stan’s home with Wendy, sucking Stan’s cock at the kitchen table, getting fucked while Stan’s growing family watches TV together in the evening, dedicating his whole life to—not even giving Stan pleasure, but being available for Stan to take pleasure from.

That fantasy gets him going again, but it’s not what he wants today. Getting off to that classic porno storyline feels like it will desecrate Stan’s room, like this is a holy place meant only for positive thoughts. Kyle puts aside the vibrator and picks up the dildo. He drags it between his legs, from his taint to the top of his pussy lips where it catches and springs out. He pulls it down his pussy again, and slaps it against his dripping entrance.

Kyle might not need anything more than this to come again, anything more than imagining Stan doing this to him with his real cock, imagining him enthusiastically enjoying Kyle’s pussy this way.

“You like that, Stan?” he mutters, feeling only a little foolish speaking in an empty room. “You like that pussy?”

 _I love it_ , Stan tells him, his face luminous smiling down at him. _I love your sweet, perfect pussy, Kyle._

“Stan,” he moans, testing it out, and then again, louder, “Stan!”

Looking back at this moment later, Kyle remembers hearing his name being called in the distance, the sound of feet thumping up the stairs, but somehow he doesn’t process what any of that means at the time. He doesn’t realize Stan’s home until the bedroom door is flung open and Stan leaps over Sparky into the room, shouting his name. “Kyle?” he says, confusion replacing concern in his voice. “Kyle, oh my god!”

For a long, horrible moment, Kyle is frozen with a dildo sticking halfway out of his pussy, Stan framed in between his knees across the room, gaping at him. _What can I do?_ he thinks. What can he possibly do to make this okay? There’s nothing. Nothing will ever be okay again.

Finally he starts to scramble, rolling over and taking the towel with him, pulling it around his waist as he stands up and—Stan’s blocking the doorway, Kyle can’t jump out the window naked—with nothing else to do, he just walks to the far corner of Stan’s room and stands there, staring at the point where the walls come together until he goes cross-eyed. He’s trembling so much he wonders if his body will just collapse into a pile of parts. That would be convenient.

Something soft comes over his back and Kyle looks down to see Stan putting a long blue robe around him. Of course he is. Keeping a tight grip on his towel, Kyle puts his arm through one sleeve and then the other, pulls the sides tight around himself so he’s covered from chin to ankle, and ties it closed.

He’s still shaking, but he feels a little better, even with Stan still so close, silent body heat behind him. “Are you cold?” Stan says softly. “You’re shivering.”

Kyle shrugs. He doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. Stan reaches out—Kyle can feel his fingertips brushing over his shoulders like butterfly wings for a few seconds—and then he makes solid contact, runs his hands up and down Kyle’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Stan says, his voice even softer than before.

“Why are _you_ apologizing?” Kyle croaks.

Stan just says, “I’m sorry,” again, maybe for apologizing this time. “I’m so fucking sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to—it was just a lot. You were there and—you have a—Kyle, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You walked in on me jerking off, fuck— _fucking_ myself with a dildo on your bed, moaning your name, and you’re starting with the fact that I have a vagina?”

“Well, yeah. There’s a lot to think about, like I said. And the rest of it could have happened if you just had an asshole down there.”

Kyle laughs a little, drops his head forward to slam against the wall, relishing the pain. Stan’s right. No matter what kind of body he had he probably would have been compelled to masturbate in Stan’s bed today. “Fair enough.”

Stan moves his hands from Kyle’s arms, gingerly, across his back. It feels really good, really comforting, and Kyle doesn’t know how Stan can make him feel like this after everything that just happened. If anyone else tried to touch him right now Kyle would rip their arms off and run straight the fuck out of Colorado. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Stan says.

“Yeah, okay.” Kyle stands up straight and steps back, almost walking into Stan before the other boy jolts back. At first Kyle thinks _he’s_ running away, but he’s just running to the bed, laying out his pillows and shaking out his comforter—making his bed like Kyle’s a special guest and wasn’t just caught taking advantage of that unmade bed.

Well, Kyle can clean up a little, too. He pulls the towel out from underneath the robe and picks up his trail of clothes, balling them up and stuffing it all into his backpack. His phone is poking out of the front pocket and he pulls it out to check his notifications by rote. He has a missed call from Stan, and two text messages, _coming home early!_ and _where ru? wanna come over? i can pick you up ;))))_ The first one was sent well before Kyle started stripping off his clothes, but he had been too keyed up to think about his phone at that point.

“What happened to the lamp?” Stan says.

“Oh, I—” Kyle's instinct is to blame Sparky, but he really can’t dig this hole any deeper. He’s in China. “I got startled when, um—sorry.”

“No, Jesus, it’s—” Stan throws the pillow on the bed and drops his lamp, clock, and cup back on the table. “No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Kyle sits on the bed. Stan takes off his winter coat and hat, throws them toward his closet, and sits down next to him. Kyle can’t think of anything to say and Stan’s just sitting there, scratching his hand through his hair slowly, raking his eyes over Kyle’s body like he’s never seen it before.

This was a bad idea. “I should go,” Kyle says, standing up.

“No!” Stan grabs Kyle’s arm with both his hands and pulls him back even though Kyle hasn’t taken a step away yet. “Please, I’m sorry—”

“Dude, seriously, you need to stop saying that.”

But then again, Kyle sits back down, so maybe apologizing is working for him. Stan watches him for a moment and then carefully lets go of Kyle’s arm.

“Shouldn’t I apologize for not noticing?”

“No!” Kyle says. “I didn’t want you to notice. I worked really hard to make sure no one noticed.”

“I had no idea, dude.” Kyle shrugs, wrapping his arms around his midsection. “Is that why you—you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“I’m not attracted to girls, um, also. So that’s part of why.”

“You’re not—I had _no idea_ , Kyle.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why, though? Did you think—”

“It wasn’t really about you, Stan!” he snaps, even though it was, in a way. If he’d ever come out to his friends, Stan might have been the last one he told. His opinion mattered the most, and his rejection would have destroyed him.

“Right,” Stan says. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to _out_ you—”

“I do not think that word means what you think it means,” Kyle says, cracking a grin, relaxing a little when Stan grins back at him. “You didn’t out me. I just—accidentally—outed myself to you. But please don’t tell anyone. _That_ would be outing me.”

“Right. Right, of course I won’t. So no one else knows?”

“My doctor knows, since I couldn't really hide it from him, and he’s legally required to tell a parent—”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I know. I _know_ , if I’d known that I might have fought my mom harder about getting a check-up. Not that she hasn't been supportive— _very_ supportive—it's just—it’s good to know I’m healthy, I guess. I’ve got a perfectly developed vagina and uterus and—all that. But anyway, my mom knows, too, now. Not that I’m gay, though. Or—whatever I am.”

“You’re amazing, Kyle. That’s what you are. I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with this all by yourself.”

Kyle looks at his feet and feels two tears slip down his cheeks. Crap, he didn’t even notice he was starting to cry. Stan says his name, sounding like he might start crying, too, and scoots closer to him, so their thighs are touching and their ankles crisscross on the floor. Slowly, Stan wraps his arms around Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle doesn’t hug him back, feels too vulnerable to let go of how he’s hugging himself, but he lets his head fall on to Stan’s shoulder. Stan moves one hand to the back of Kyle’s neck and runs his fingers through Kyle’s hair. He does that sometimes, usually when they’re watching TV, when Kyle sits in front of him on the floor, or early in the morning after sleepovers, when they’re still half-asleep. It makes his hair frizz out like crazy, but he would never ask Stan to stop, not ever.

“Do you feel comfortable in your clothes?” Stan asks him. “Are you comfortable with your pronouns?”

Kyle laughs out a breath against Stan’s chest. “Yes,” he says, pulling back a little. “I’m a guy. I mean, I feel like a guy. I just don’t have a dick. Trans people are much more likely to have matching primary and secondary sex characteristics, actually. Just—the wrong ones.” A lot of people don’t know that. None of their health class teachers have known that.

“Yeah,” Stan says, “I read that, too. But—it happens.”

“You're right. Thanks for asking.”

“No problem.”

“How about you? Comfortable with your clothes and pronouns and all that?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Sparky whimpers and scratches at the closed door, making Kyle startle out of Stan’s arms. Oh, right: there are more people in the world than the two of them.

“Are your parents here?”

“No, they—oh, shit, they bought me a car, dude! It’s ten years old and it’s _green_ , like this weird forest green color, but it’s—my own car, name on the title and everything.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah! Anyway, they told me to drive it back, said they were going to spend a couple days alone together in the city and that’s—yeah.”

“Yeah, that’s—good.” Kyle takes a deep breath. “I mean, it’s—less witnesses.”

“I’m really, really sorry I barged in here before. I heard you call out my name and I thought you were hurt or something. I just ran.”

“Dude, seriously, this is your room. I’m the one—I never should have—this is all on me. _I’m_ sorry.”

“Why _did_ you—um—here?” Kyle wracks his brain for something to say that won’t ruin this easy normalcy that Stan’s allowed so far. “Oh! Empty house, right? This is probably more privacy than you could ever get at your house.”

Suddenly Kyle is extremely annoyed. Why is Stan being so understanding about this, so impartial? How does Stan have an explanation for everything that _isn’t_ Kyle being in love with him? “Why was I moaning your name, then, huh?”

His voice is sharp and Stan draws back as if Kyle hit him. “I don’t— _I_ don’t know, Kyle, _you’re_ the one—why were you moaning my name? You tell me!”

“Because you turn me on, Stan! Okay? Thinking of you fucking me helps me get off when I—”

Stan lunges at him, pushing Kyle onto his back and knocking the breath out of him. Kyle closes his eyes, ready to get punched, but instead he gets kissed.

He can’t believe it. Kyle never thought this would happen, had a hard time even fantasizing about it. Stan is kissing him.

Until Stan pulls away and says, “I’m sorry,” for the hundredth unnecessary time today.

Kyle flings his arms around Stan’s neck to hold him there. “Where are you going?”

“You—you don’t want it.” Kyle just blinks at him, baffled. “You didn’t kiss me back.”

 _Fuck_. “I’m slow today,” Kyle says and strains up to press his mouth to Stan’s, quick as he can. “Come back here, kiss me one more time, and see how much I want it.”

Stan leans back down and carefully presses his lips to Kyle’s. Kyle has kissed a handful of people, but never for more than a few seconds, and never because he really wanted to, so for a second he’s frozen again. Stan knows exactly what he’s doing, though, and it’s easy enough to open his mouth and follow Stan’s lead. Then Kyle stops thinking about it, loses himself in Stan’s mouth—wet, hot, soft, and sweet, like spearmint gum.

Stan moves his mouth over Kyle’s jaw and down his neck. Kyle groans at the feeling, pleasure zinging through him like those nerve endings make a direct line to his pussy.

His pussy. Which Stan knows about.

“You’re really attracted to me?”

“Yes!” Stan says, breath hot against Kyle's skin. “God, Kyle, I’ve wanted you since—”

“But you—you didn’t even know what I had to be attracted to.”

Stan rears back and looks him in the eyes. “You think a pussy changes you that much? You’re just—Kyle. You’re my best friend. I’m in love with my best friend. You think I haven't thought about you having a pussy, dude? I’ve had fantasies about us fucking where _I_ have a pussy.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“I am _so_ in love with you.”

“And you don’t mind—”

“Dude, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with your cock if you ever let me get my hands on it. Your pussy is a _bonus_.”

“A bonus.” Kyle shakes his head, amazed, and pulls Stan back into a kiss by the neck.

Not long after Stan gasps, “I really want to eat you out,” against his mouth. “Can I eat your pussy, please, dude?”

Kyle can only moan his agreement and Stan leaps off the bed and pulls Kyle around so his ass is at the very edge of the mattress. He expects Stan to untie his robe, maybe work his mouth down Kyle's body, but instead he just kneels in front of him, pushes the sides of the robe apart, spreads Kyle’s knees, and gets right to it, running his tongue over the full length Kyle’s pussy.

Stan disappears under the fabric of Kyle’s robe after that, not coming up for breath. He brings a hand in to help him, holding Kyle’s hole open so his tongue can lick him more deeply. Kyle grabs Stan by his hair, holding him in place as he gets closer to coming. Stan is drawing him there masterfully—Kyle feels like a thermometer, mercury racing past degrees, when usually his orgasm seems to come out of nowhere.

“Don’t stop,” Kyle hisses, though Stan is showing no plans to. At Kyle’s word he does change his technique, pressing two fingers inside him and suckling at Kyle’s clit so it thrums against his tongue. Kyle falls apart, pleasure washing over him, and over him, and _over him_ in waves.

Stan stays between his legs as Kyle relaxes again, pressing very gentle kisses to his thighs and the outer lips of his pussy, and teasingly right on his clit, making Kyle jerk against him. Stan’s stubble, the bare dusting he grows by eighth period, is obvious as it brushes over Kyle’s tender skin.

Kyle wants Stan back on top of him and scratches at his shoulders to tell him so. Stan’s head reappears in between Kyle’s legs, grinning and licking his lips. His eyes fall closed and he groans a little at the taste. “You taste so good, dude.”

“Yeah?” Kyle runs his thumb over Stan’s cheek. “Better than Wendy?”

He can’t believe he just asked that and it must show on his face because Stan’s grin widens.

“A lot better.”

Kyle giggles—it’s really not fair to call the sound anything else—and covers his eyes with his hand. From the cool air on his skin Kyle can feel Stan is unwrapping his robe, and Kyle keeps his eyes closed as he moves to allow Stan to pull it off his arms and out from under him. Stan kisses his way up Kyle’s body, licking into his belly button and over both the tight nubs of his nipples. When he reaches Kyle’s face he bypasses his mouth to nip at each of Kyle’s fingers still covering his eyes. Kyle drops his hand behind his head and smiles at him.

“You good?” Stan says.

“I’m so good.”

Stan shifts against him and Kyle looks down to see Stan’s erection straining between their bellies. Stan has undone his belt and jeans and pushed them down, along with his boxers, just far enough that he could take out his cock. It’s as beautiful as Kyle remembers, flushed red and throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“How about you, dude?” Kyle says lightly, skimming his hand over the length of Stan’s cock. “You good?”

“Fuck,” Stan chokes.  “I want to fuck you. Can I—?”

“Fuck me!” Kyle says, “Yes!”

Stan wastes no time, jumping to kneel on the bed, canting Kyle’s hips up, and guiding his knees around his hips. He presses his cock head over Kyle’s entrance and holds it here.

“Have you ever—?”

Kyle’s breathing like he just ran a marathon. “With the dildo.”

“I’m a lot bigger than that dildo.”

Kyle grins at the pride in Stan’s voice. “No kidding.” He pushes himself up and reaches out to grip Stan’s cock, his fingers barely meeting around the girth of it. Kyle strokes it slowly, and rubs his thumb over Stan’s leaking slit. “I can take it.”

“Can you get pregnant?

“Yes,” Kyle says. A long afternoon of tests was very conclusive. “But I’m on the pill. My mom insisted. So as long as you’re clean—?”

“I’m clean. I can show you—”

“No, no.” Kyle falls back onto the mattress. “C’mon, Stan, stuff your big, naked cock in my tight, virgin pussy.”

Without another word, Stan thrusts forward, finally pushing his fat mushroom head inside, and—fuck, Kyle can take it all right, but it is a _lot_. He sucks in a breath, willing his body to relax around the intrusion.

Stan drops down on top of him, so they’re face-to-face, and runs his hand over Kyle’s forehead. “Hey,” he says softly, nuzzling Kyle’s nose with his own.

“Hey,” he says back, and smiles as Stan fits their mouths together. He tastes like Kyle’s vaginal fluid, and Kyle is almost grossed out, _almost_ , but he pushes that feeling away and enjoys Stan’s kiss. 

Stan slips a hand between their bodies and rubs Kyle’s clit, which is getting almost sore after so much attention today, but it comes back to life under Stan’s careful ministrations. Then Stan starts to push his cock forward again, and Kyle’s shocked at how much easier it is to take him—still a tight fit, but his inner walls seem to be drawing Stan in deeper, begging to be filled.

Once he’s buried to the hilt, Stan sits up again and surveys Kyle laid out and ready for fucking. Kyle takes the moment to admire Stan in return. He's still mostly clothed, but so ridiculously beautiful, as always. His T-shirt is old and a little too small for him now, sleeves tight around his biceps and V-neck stretched between his pecs. Kyle reaches out and scratches his thumb over the firm pebble of Stan’s nipple and Stan laughs, ticklish.

“You’ve never done that before,” Stan says.

Kyle nods, because of course he hasn’t tickled his buddy's nipple before, though it’s not like he hasn’t wanted to. He was mostly nervous that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from following up a touch with a bite.

“No, like, I’ve thought about this so many times—exactly this. I’ve imagined you right here, on your back, in my bed. I was so off the mark. I had no clue it would feel like this.” Stan saves him from responding to that by pulling out and thrusting right back in, so hard he shoves Kyle up the bed.

“How’s that?” Stan says, thrusting in and out again again. “How’s that feel?”

“So good,” Kyle groans. He's overwhelmed with how good it. “Stan, you’re fucking me so good, dude, you’re perfect.”

“ _You_ are. You’re so wet, so tight—your cunt is so hungry for my cock, isn’t it?”

Kyle clenches the walls of his—Jesus fuck—his _cunt_ around Stan’s cock to prove it. “Only yours.”

“ _Fuck_ , you—yeah?”

“You’re not sure? There’s no one else, Stan. Nothing else could ever compare to this.”

“Same— _same_ , dude, God. I’d marry you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Kyle whispers, but Stan hears him loud and clear, laughing as he drops on top of him with all his weight and kisses him. 

The change in angle makes something zing through Kyle. With every thrust out, the lip of Stan’s cock head drags against something inside him that feels almost better than his clit. Is that his G-spot? His prostate? Stan drags along it again and Kyle decides he doesn’t give a shit what it is. “Fuck, fuck,” he says into Stan's mouth. “Keep fucking me like that, just like that. Okay?”

“That feel good?” Stan leans back just enough to watch Kyle’s face and catches where he’s hitting the spot. “Right there?” Kyle nods frantically. Stan starts fucking him with quick, short thrusts, dragging over it, and over it, until Kyle is coming again, the pleasure coming like a tsunami this time, annihilating him. He’s pretty sure he blacks out.

When he comes to, Stan is still fucking him, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his head bent onto Kyle’s chest. Kyle wraps his arms around Stan, runs his hand over his sweat-damp back, the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, and then holds him tight as he thrusts in deep, making strangled noises over Kyle’s skin when he comes. Kyle can feel it inside him, a hot pulsing rush of _Stan_ that’s just for Kyle.

Neither of them are very coordinated after that, but they manage to move into a more comfortable position, turning so they’re lying on the bed the right way, spooning together on a mostly dry patch of sheets.

Kyle wakes up from dozing to his phone making its most annoying sound. He stretches to pull it out of his backpack, ignores a low battery warning, and turns off his alarm to stop being a pervert at Stan’s house and go home for dinner.

“I’ve got to go. Mom’s expecting me home.” He sits up and looks back at Stan, who looks much more awake than Kyle feels. The setting sun is filling Stan’s room in golden light and giving him the aura of a Greek god. “You want to come have dinner at my house?”

“You sure? You don’t need, like—space?”

Kyle laughs. “No way, dude. Do you?”

“No, no, I—fuck, yes I want to come to dinner. I don’t want to let you out of my arms.”

Stan sits up and puts his arms back around Kyle's chest, straddling him and fitting his cock very nicely against Kyle’s ass.

“Well, that would be a little suspicious.” Kyle kisses his forearm. 

“So you—I guess you don’t want to tell them? About us getting married tomorrow?”

“I mean, I—we can talk about that, but—you know if we tell my mom—she’ll know.” Stan hooks his chin over Kyle’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean she’ll know that you—that you like my—”

“That I like your pussy? That I love the taste of it in my mouth so much I don’t want to brush my teeth before we leave? That nothing has ever felt so good squeezing around my cock? Your mom will know that I’m crazy in love with her son and every inch of his perfect body?”

Kyle just looks at Stan for a second, his pink cheeks, bright blue eyes, greasy hair slicked back, his bottom lip, stupidly plump, and chapped like it gets every winter. Kyle is dreaming. He fell asleep after that first orgasm and he’s in a dream right now. That’s the only explanation for what’s happened since then.

But until he wakes up he’s just going to enjoy it. “Mm-hm,” is all he says.

“Yeah, she will. I hope she doesn’t think about it too much, because that’s fucking creepy, but—you know you haven’t said you love me back.”

“Yes, I have. Haven’t I?” Stan shakes his head. “I love you. I am extremely in love with you.”

“Cool.” Stan kisses him on the cheek and gets up, sniffing under his arms, as if he could possibly wear that shirt to dinner, soaked in sweat and god knows what else. “Should I shower?”

Kyle goes to him and pulls the shirt over Stan’s head, crouches down to tug his jeans all the way off, then takes off each of his socks for him, too. He kisses the back of Stan’s knee and says, “We should both shower. And you definitely have to brush your teeth.”

Stan takes his hand to bring him to his feet and lead him to the bathroom. They only make it a couple feet before being naked in the open house catches up with them, and they run the rest of the way and slam the door behind them.

Clean and dry and back in Stan’s room, Kyle pulls his crumpled clothes out of his backpack. He digs around for his briefs, scans the floor, and then lifts up the dust ruffle to look under the bed.

“You really shouldn’t bend over like that if you’re not looking to get fucked again,” Stan says. Kyle jumps as something hits him in the ass and he sits up to find a clean pair of socks on the floor by his feet, which is awesome because he really didn’t want to put on the ones he was wearing earlier.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling as he picks them up. “Do you see my underwear anywhere? I can’t find them.”

Stan goes bright red, flushing all the way to his chest. He goes to his desk, pulls the crumpled red briefs out of the top drawer.

“I, um—grabbed them when you were freaking out earlier. I wasn’t really thinking, I just—saw them and wanted to, um—smell them later or something.”

“You pervert!” Kyle is delighted. “You didn’t think I’d notice?”

“I didn’t think at all! I just—wanted something of you to keep.”

“And you ended up with the complete Kyle Broflovski.”

“You _are_ always telling me to apply myself.”

Usually Kyle’s trying to get Stan to take some AP classes with him when he says that, but . . . “Yeah! Next time, you think you could get me to squirt?”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Did you find a typo or other monkey business in this fic? I know it can feel rude or pushy or just weird to tell authors about that stuff, so [I made a form where you can report it anonymously](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1--1RxNJyJCWZPaRyBeV6jtmUrcEI0zuUkDvoJoA6A_A/viewform). Thank you in advance for making a better reading experience for future readers.
> 
> 2\. I hate when authors word build in a note, but here’s some Science Facts, anyway. In this world doctors assign babies a gender in utero based on hormones; everyone’s born and spends their prepubescent years with a kind of undeveloped vulva/penis hybrid. (Gee, what’s that look like? How do hormones work? Genotypes/phenotypes? How did they assign gender before modern medicine? Why is there still such a strict gender binary? Don’t ask me, I just work here!) During puberty, all sex characteristics develop, primary and secondary alike, and most assigned-females develop a vagina and breasts and most assigned-males develop a penis and facial hair, but about 10% of the population gets a mishmash, penises and breasts, or vaginas on an otherwise male body. Girls with cocks might still have a working uterus, and boys with vaginas might not. 
> 
> In my mind, Bebe developed a cock. I’m considering a fic from her perspective and I’m also considering how Kyle would go instant loud and proud social rights activist if someone else came out first and was under attack. And I also really wanted to write this so Stan walks in on him and like, immediately rips away the dildo and replaces it with his cock. But Stan would never, so this schmoopy shit happened instead. Stan and Kyle might role play that scene, though! So......look forward to that, I don't know. BYE!


End file.
